


Why Can We Never Be Sure Till We Die?

by driedjasmine (aimlessAnemone)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andrastianism (Dragon Age), Arranged Marriage, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Friendship, Herald's Rest, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Dorian Pavus, POV Lavellan, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Rating May Change, Religion, Softened Leliana, agnosticism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-26 19:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlessAnemone/pseuds/driedjasmine
Summary: Inquisitor Ellana has been gathering allies for the battle against Corypheus, but dithering about the topic of religion hasn't earned her any favors, especially not from the elves. The Dalish clans of Thedas are far-flung and disjointed, but all feel uneasy about the ascension of Clan Lavellan's First to the top of an organization so closely related to the Chantry. When presented with an opportunity to cement a Dalish-Inquisition alliance and unite several clans, will Ellana find the benefits worth the personal cost? Can her newfound friends convince her to follow her heart instead?





	Why Can We Never Be Sure Till We Die?

Dorian sat at the bar of The Herald’s Rest reading the biography of a Starkhaven mage whose major life work involved distilling dragonthorn berries for use in runic enchantments during the Storm Age. It wasn’t _conventionally_ interesting. Skyhold’s library was, so far, populated solely via scant shipments, salvaged goods, and smuggled books the Inquisition’s mage allies had brought from their respective Circles. Unfortunately, Dorian had already read the books about more relevant matters.

Ellana and the rest of the inner circle of the Inquisition had been holed up at Skyhold for nearly twenty-seven days. When they last returned from the field almost a month ago, demon ichor still caked to their armor, the advisors had nearly immediately whisked Ellana off to the war room to see to administrative duties. The two were in the middle of comparing the merits of wooden and metallic staves at the time; Ellana had shrugged at Dorian and mouthed a ‘sorry, let’s continue this later.’ They had yet to come to a consensus on that matter.

Inquisitor Lavellan had been a rare sight at Skyhold since then, except for her occasional visits to the pub. At first, Dorian welcomed the change of pace. He and Ellana had lost—and then promptly regained—an entire year of their lives in the blink of an eye at Redcliffe. They hadn’t been allowed much time to decompress after that; sealing the breach, losing Haven, and finding Skyhold were a nonstop chain of events.

While Dorian enjoyed relaxation and scholarly research like any other would-be Magister, the longer the inner circle spent sequestered in the ancient elven stronghold, the more he felt that they were better served helping people on the ground. He was fast becoming restless.

Dorian looked around the tavern. Bull and his Chargers were in their regular corner. He eyed the dwarf, Rocky, who was fidgeting with something suspiciously incendiary-looking far too close to a candle for Dorian’s comfort. Before he had a chance to avert his gaze, Rocky looked up and caught Dorian staring. The dwarf winked and held a finger to his mouth in a conspiratorial manner, then went back to work. Dorian shuddered.

Varric sat at a table behind Dorian, furiously scribbling. He had no less than seven manuscripts piled around him. Several sheaves of paper lay forgotten at his feet. Dorian wondered how Varric kept track of all the plotlines—were the outlines in his head clearer than the mess that surrounded him? He thought it best not to distract the creative process with a question like that. Dorian’s gaze moved on.

Behind the bar, Cabot prepared a drink for Maryden. He responded in absentminded ‘uh huhs’ while Maryden detailed the intricacies of her rivalry with a “raven-haired wretch in Redcliffe.” Usually she played later in the night than this, Dorian observed, but the place was relatively quiet tonight. Although the Inquisition paid Maryden (perhaps a bit too well for a lute player who wasn’t also a bard, Dorian thought), he had seen her discreetly accept tips from patrons on busy nights.

The only other party of note in The Herald’s Rest was a group of four unfamiliar elves: Dalish, judging by the vallaslin. They were engaged in low, murmuring conversation. When Dorian focused, he could hear a smattering of words.

“…Bad timing…”

“Uniting the clans was never a good idea, anyway…”

“Showing up unannounced…”

Dorian wondered if these strangers had any correlation with Ellana’s absence around Skyhold. He could count on two hands the number of Dalish recruits the Inquisition had amassed since its beginning. Considering the heritage of the Inquisitor, Dorian found it strange that more hadn’t pledged their support, although he guessed the organization’s close connection to Andrastianism was irreconcilable with several tenets of standard Dalish belief.  

Ellana’s uncommitted stance on religion in her official capacity as Inquisitor was unpopular across the board. Dorian had a hunch her inability to ‘pick a side’ was more a reflection on her own uncertainty in regards to higher powers than an ineffective attempt at a political salve. While the two were generally friendly, they had yet to broach the topic of spirituality in any depth. _A conversation to look forward to_ , he thought.

Dorian was about to head back to his room for the evening when the door to the tavern opened. Ellana strode in, purposeful in her movements. She nodded at the group of elves as she passed them; Dorian thought he saw the tinge of a blush cross her face. Ellana stopped at Varric’s table and, seeing that Dorian was already looking her way, waved him over. “I have an announcement,” Ellana began once Dorian had joined the party. “I’ll bring the others over, too.”

Ellana left in the direction of the Chargers’ table. Dorian knelt down to pick up Varric’s forgotten papers and arranged them in something approaching a neat pile. “Thanks, Sparkler,” Varric offered. “I know I look disorganized, but…”

Dorian scoffed. “Your work has afforded you no small amount of praise and admiration. Who am I to judge your creative process? Besides, you’re working in a tavern. Dishevelment comes with the territory.”

“It does, indeed.” Dorian had trouble placing the expression on Varric’s face. Sadness? Nostalgia? “Have I ever told you about The Hanged Man? It was one of those ‘this is a shithole but it’s _my_ shithole’ kind of places. I wrote ‘The Tale of the Champion’ there.”

“Although I’ve been to Kirkwall, I only know the place from your book. The description doesn’t portend well for writing.”

“Of course it doesn’t, my refined Tevinter friend. And that’s what makes it such an enchanting location.”

“I suppose I’ll leave the magic to the master, as it were.”

Iron Bull sat with a _thump_ at the seat next to Dorian. “Did someone say ‘master?’” He looked at Dorian and winked. “Or was it ‘magister?’ Either way, my sword is ready.” The way Bull said ‘sword’ convinced Dorian there was a depth of intent behind the line.

Varric chuckled. Dorian made a disgusted noise. “Oh, look. Sera’s here. Sera, do tell us some charming anecdote about your life. Anything will do.”

“It’s Sera, not a blushing Chantry prince. Any hope you had of her bringing this conversation out of the gutter is misguided at best,” Varric responded, putting his hands behind his head as Sera approached. “This’ll be good,” he muttered.

“What about a gutter?” Sera asked, leaning into the table with her hands. “If it’s about Sparkly and Horny Bits over here, then yeah, they should just do it already.” She groaned. “Ugh, unless it makes them worse.”

“Oh, I can be worse,” Bull responded with a smirk. “I could talk about slaying—”

More than one party at the table was relieved when Ellana returned, Cole in tow. “I briefed the others already. I’m heading out tomorrow morning for a,” she paused and knit her brow, “diplomatic mission.”

Cole looked back at the table of Dalish visitors knowingly. He spoke in a low voice that Dorian could hear because of his close proximity. “They thought they were doing the right thing but she isn’t interested. He isn’t close enough to the ground.” Based on his glance in Cole’s direction, only Varric among the rest of the group seemed to have heard the comment. Varric raised an eyebrow at Cole.

Ellana continued. “Our primary goal is to escort Dalish representatives back to their clan near the Storm Coast. It’s in the Inquisition’s best interests,” she looked pointedly at Sera, “to remain civil.”

Sera blew a raspberry at the remark. Bull elbowed her. “Frig you!” she retorted, but she made no attempt to leave the table.

Ellana sighed. “You are free to accompany me. You are also free to stay at Skyhold. I estimate we’ll be gone for several weeks, if not longer. If we’re successful, we expect several clans to pledge their support for the Inquisition.”

Sera grimaced. “Does that mean we’ll have more ‘elfy’ types running around?”

Face neutral, Ellana responded. “As I said, this trip is optional. If you’re planning to come, I suggest getting ready tonight. The earlier we leave tomorrow, the better.”

It seemed like nearly everyone was committed to joining the Inquisitor in the field. Bull tossed several coins Cabot’s way and sauntered back to his crew. Several moments later, the Chargers got up from their table and headed off in different directions. Varric finished gathering his papers and wished Dorian a brief good night. Dorian hadn’t seen Cole leave, but by now, that was hardly surprising.

Dorian stayed at the table for a while, determined to finish reading the current chapter in his book before retiring. Ellana had offered to walk Sera up to her room, no doubt to admonish her for her flippant disregard for the Dalish. He caught a snippet of conversation as they ascended the stairs of the tavern: “…not as easy as what _I_ believe, _leth_ —Sera. I can understand why it makes you feel uncomfortable, but…”

Ellana returned to the main floor of the pub not five minutes later. A flustered look betrayed her generally calm demeanor. She crossed the room to join the four elven men and spoke with them in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

She was still there when Dorian reached the end of the chapter. He waved to her as he left the tavern. She waved back, her face again impassive. Climbing the stairs to the main entrance of the fortress, he wondered just how much Ellana was keeping to herself.

* * *

 

Sera backed away from the table, frustrated by the turn of events. She was here to help, but she’d need to mull it over before she decided to go along with the ‘elfy’ elves and their elfishness. She turned to go back to her room. Ellana caught her attention.

“Sera? Let’s walk and talk.”

Sera let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, yeah? But I’m not apologizing for nothing.”

“Okay. I didn’t recruit you for your manners.”

“That’s right, you didn’t.”

They began to ascend the stairs to Sera’s room on the second floor. Sera stopped partway up the first step. “I just don’t get it. Everyone says Andraste sent you, like _really_ sent you, to fix everything. But you’re Dalish. You don’t believe that, right? You believe in,” she wiggled her fingers in mock reverence, “that stuff, yeah?”

“It’s not as easy as what _I_ believe, _leth_ —Sera. I can understand why it makes you feel uncomfortable, but,” Ellana continued to climb the stairs, “I have to be careful about what I say around people.”

“Well, not saying _anything_ doesn’t work. It makes you seem all shifty. If you don’t believe in the Maker, just own it.” They walked in uneasy silence back to Sera’s room. At the door, Ellana took an anxious breath. She looked around, perhaps to confirm that no one else was listening.

“I don’t believe in the Maker.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Disappointing, yeah, but it’s about what I expected. You’ve got the—” Sera spread two fingers across each of her cheeks, mimicking Ellana’s vallaslin.

“Yeah.” Ellana furrowed her brow. Sera thought she looked like she wanted to say something else, but Ellana offered only silence.

Sera put her hand on the doorknob. “You’re weird, Lady Inquisitor. And annoying. But I’m in. Helping people, right?”

“I’m glad to hear that, Sera. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and all that.”

Ellana went back downstairs. Sera nestled in her nook. _About time we got out of Skyhold_. Realistically, Sera had pranked everyone she could with the resources she had during the month they’d been grounded. New surroundings would hopefully inspire her to come up with something new.

Sera recalled a few Red Jenny caches that laid along the way to the Storm Coast. She could probably convince the Inquisitor to stop and collect them. While Sera recognized that she and Ellana were on somewhat thin ice, she also knew for a fact that the Inquisitor wasn’t a vindictive person.

Sera smiled at the thought, then quickly scowled. _She’s one of_ them. _Fine for an acquaintance, but not more_. She pulled a looping mass of yarn out from under a nearby cushion and started to stab at it with knitting needles. _Definitely too ‘elfy’ for a sweater_. _It wouldn’t even look good on her_.

* * *

 

The sun had yet to rise over the Frostbacks the next morning. Dorian was already donning his armor and adventuring gear. The prospect of a new adventure had roused him early from sleep and he didn’t want to fathom missing the departure time.

Dorian descended the tower and headed toward the mess hall, ready to savor the last meal he’d eat from an actual kitchen for a while. He could already smell the coffee when—

“Hey! Dorian! Get over here!”

 _Ugh_. Dorian looked toward the voice, expecting to see some low-rank officer chide him for being _too_ Tevinter. It hadn’t happened yet, but it wouldn’t surprise him. What he saw instead confused him. About a dozen people had formed a lazy circle in the courtyard. Half a dozen, like Dorian, stood by and watched. Those in the circle were kicking a small, ball-shaped bag between them.

Was this some sort of training exercise? The ball was cloth-covered, but clearly filled with something heavier, based on the way it flopped on the ground when a pass didn’t make it all the way across the circle. _No, too jovial for a training exercise_ , he thought as someone cackled.

Krem passed the ball to Sera. She caught it on an outstretched boot, then kicked it a little too fiercely. It flew past her intended target (Josephine, perhaps?) and went sailing straight for Dorian’s face.

Dorian cursed several things in the second he had before the ball hit him. He cursed Sera; he cursed whoever invented this blasted ‘game;’ he cursed his staff for not being on his person; and he especially cursed that he had been called to participate in this farce before having any coffee.

All of a sudden, a large force pushed him to the ground. The ball whizzed by, hitting the wall of the battlements with a _smack_. Once he got his bearings, Dorian found himself under the Iron Bull. Bull met his eyes and suavely—wait, no, _not_ suavely—said, “Gotcha.”

“I was going to duck.”

“Uh huh.”

“Really, Bull, must you? In front of everyone?”

Bull stared at Dorian for a brief moment longer. He pushed himself up, dusted off his hands, then offered one to Dorian. Dorian sighed, but took the assistance. “I’m just here to help.”

Behind them, Rocky ran to the ball. In the impact, the fabric of the ball had shredded. Small green beans spilled out of its remains. “Boss!” he shouted in Bull’s direction. “I’m gonna have to make a new one.”

Bull laughed, then turned to rejoin the circle. “Sera, didn’t know you had such a strong kick. Not bad.”

“What? It’s not my fault it ripped. You want something good, I’ll knit it next time!”

“Sounds good,” Bull replied. “We can get the Arcanist to enchant it when we’re back.”

The reason for their gathering waylaid, the rest of the Inquisition members went their separate ways. Dorian counted the Chargers, Blackwall, Cullen, and even Solas among the former players. Cassandra stood nearby. Dorian thought it looked like she wanted to play, but something had held her back.

Bull slapped Dorian on the back as he left the courtyard with the rest of his team. There was a mutual attraction between them; Dorian couldn’t deny it. He just couldn’t decide what to _do_ about it. _I won’t solve anything without coffee_ , he thought, as he continued to the mess hall. The sun was beginning to break through the mountains.

* * *

 

Ellana surveyed the forces assembled in the mess hall in front of her. The entire inner circle was there; they were even sitting at the same table this morning. _Good_ , she thought. _I’ve inspired_ some _loyalty._ She rose to address them.

“I’m glad to see you all here this morning. Were you getting as restless as I was?” A murmur of agreement passed through her companions. “As I said last night, you’ll be accompanying me on an escort mission. Our friends are members of the Sabrae clan. We will take them to the Storm Coast. They’re returning to the Free Marches.”

Varric perked up. “Couldn’t stay away from Kirkwall, could they? I don’t blame them.”

“Inquisitor,” Vivienne probed, “surely they aren’t in such a hurry to go back? While the Free Marches must be charming to some,” she peered at Varric, “our visitors can’t have had time to fully explore Ferelden or Orlais.”

Ellana frowned. “They are no longer needed here.”

“Whatever you say, my dear.”

“Let’s aim to leave within the hour. I’d like to make camp while we still have sunlight. We’ll be on a tight itinerary en route, but once we accomplish what we set out to do, there’s flexibility regarding our schedule.”

“Oh, tight and flexible!” Sera muttered suggestively. The entire table groaned. Varric _and_ Bull elbowed her this time.

“Anyway,” Ellana continued. “We’ll meet in the usual place. Enjoy your breakfast.” She attempted a smile. The group began to talk amongst each other. She left the mess hall, intent on inventorying the supplies one last time.

She was walking down the hallway that opened to the garden when a hand touched her shoulder, followed by, “Inquisitor?” The tone was high; the accent Orlesian. Ellana turned around.

“Yes, Spymaster?” Ellana asked, choosing to use Leliana’s formal title.

“I just wanted to confirm that you really intend to do this.”

“Why? Have your spies found something questionable?”

“No, I but I thought _you_ might find it questionable.”

“It’s complicated,” Ellana admitted. “But it’s not really about what I want.”

“The Inquisition will not suffer without the support of the Dalish. Perhaps this is not something you want to hear, but it is the truth. The decision is entirely up to you. Cullen, Josephine, and I will respect your choice.” Leliana took a breath. “Love is—”

Ellana interrupted. “—not why I’m here.”

Leliana bowed curtly. “I understand. I am always a raven away.” She began to walk back down the hallway. Before she left through the door, she stopped momentarily and said, “Good luck, Inquisitor.”

Leliana had given Ellana something to think about, not that she wasn’t already thinking about it. _What_ do _I want_? She had no clue.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a humble one-shot. The original scene isn't even in this chapter anymore. Thanks to @MachGirl for being my #1 fan even though the only thing she knows about Dragon Age is that Solas is an egg who needs to get scrambled and that Ramen is a member of 'NSYNC.
> 
> I listened to DAO and DAII soundtracks while writing; I enjoyed the music from Leliana's Song so much that I decided to add her as a character. I also went through several Genesis albums. The title of the fic comes from the song 'Time Table,' actually. That song goes really, really well with Inquisition.
> 
> Thoughts and feedback appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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